


Gone but not forgotten

by ApocalypseThen



Category: Valor Series - Tanya Huff
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, F/F, Fingering, Space Marines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4874053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypseThen/pseuds/ApocalypseThen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most of her company wiped out, Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr has left the Confederation marines. Binti Mashona and Miransha Kichar find ways to cope with her absence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone but not forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> The Valor series by Tanya Huff is about Space Marines who kick ass. Especially Torin Kerr, who gets the job done with plenty of dry humour. There's no end of marines crushing on her... 
> 
> Binti Mashona is a sharpshooter from Torin's company. Kichar is a newly qualified, overachieving marine with a huge crush on Torin and a short fuse.
> 
> This is set between the fourth and fifth books of the series, after Torin has left the marines but before Mashona has quit.
> 
> Note: 'fuk' and 'fukking' are how it's written in the books.
> 
> I honestly thought I'd never write fanfic for anything but Mass Effect, but I have a soft spot for all kinds of Space Marines: duty, honour, sacrifice, ass-kicking and a healthy sex drive :)

“Drinking alone, Private Kichar?” asked Binti Mashona, approaching the table in the corner. Miransha Kichar had her back to the wall of the darkened bar, and was giving a group of rowdy marines a good eyeballing, one hand closed hard around her beer glass.

“That's Lance-Corporal now,” replied Kichar. “Not that anybody gives a fuk.”

“I'll drink to that,” said Mashona amiably, setting her own drink down and straddling a backwards chair. “What's with the combats? Is Recon shipping you out already?”

“Would I be in a bar?” replied Kichar, without a trace of sarcasm. She took her job a lot more seriously than anyone else she knew. Bar Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr, her own private hero, idol and crush. “Blood got on my service uniform.”

“All by itself, I'll bet,” Mashona grinned. “What happened, some punk badmouth the Gunny?”

Kichar turned her head slightly and Mashona saw the fresh bruise on her cheek. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Hey, as long as the other guy looks worse,” replied Mashona.

Kichar sighed and released her beer glass. “I was just blowing off steam. I'm fine.”

“You don't look fine, marine,” said Mashona. “You look ready to kick someone's teeth in. Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Want me to tell you about the time Gunny beat up three Silsviss in a bar fight?” asked Mashona. Normally Kichar would hoover up any and all stories about Torin, her hands cupped around her ears to pick up every detail, her eyes wide and serious.

But this time she just looked glum. “I heard that one,” she said.

“Not from me,” said Mashona.

“What's the fukking point? She's gone.” Kichar folded her arms in disgust.

“She's not _dead_. She's just had enough,” clarified Mashona. “You think she didn't leave a good enough example for you to follow?”

Their heart-to-heart was interrupted by a mildly drunk marine. “Hey, Kichar, come have a drink with us.”

“No thank you, Private,” replied Kichar, a little too haughtily.

“Shit, Kichar, one hook and you forget my name already.” He shook his head. “After the night we spent together...” He exaggerated a smile and a nostalgic sigh for the table of marines who were observing.

Kichar clenched her fists and stood up. “I told you to stop telling people that!” 

Mashona came up off her chair in a smooth motion, spinning to face the tease. “You looking for some cheap dental work, Private?” she asked him, getting in his face.

“Aw, Kichar, you traded down the Gunny for a corporal? I would have thought...” Kichar was on him before he could finish that thought, launching herself over the table to tackle him. They went down in a tangle. 

Mashona picked up her chair by the back and stood between them and the table of marines. “Anyone with more balls than brains? Anyone?” She made sudden little moves with the chair, discouraging them from joining in. 

Kichar established a dominant position on the ground and began to pound at the drunken guy, who was just about managing to protect his face but not his dignity. “Hey, come on,” protested one of his friends, as Kichar connected firmly.

Mashona looked down. Kichar had picked up a good scratch across her eyebrow to go with her bruise from earlier. The guy had blood in his gums and a rapidly swelling nose. That was quite enough for an object lesson, thought Mashona. She set down the chair and went for the collar of Kichar's combats. With ten centimetres advantage in height and more than a few kilos in weight, she was able to drag her off the defeated marine and on to her feet, but not before she got in a final punch. 

“Come on Lance-Corporal, these bums shouldn't have the benefit of our refined company,” said Mashona, gripping Kichar by the arm and marching her towards the door. Kichar couldn't stop herself from looking triumphant, though she had the sense to keep her mouth shut. The girl was learning, Mashona thought. She stopped them by the table of observers. “Looks like your buddy had a fall,” she said.

“He's always falling on his fukking ass,” replied one of them, after they let the moment stretch out long enough to make the point that they had their man's back.

“Pleasure making your acquaintance, marines,” she said as they left, because it never hurt to be polite about being on the winning side.

“That your new unit?” asked Mashona once they'd put some distance between them and the bar, walking around the gentle curve of the main corridor on this level of the station.

Kichar nodded. “Fukking kids.”

Mashona smiled. Kichar had seen a total of one whole deployment, a single disastrous engagement that ended in the loss of nearly her entire company. Mashona had been there too. But they'd survived, both of them, thanks to Torin. “It's times like this, I ask myself, what would the Gunny do?” she said.

Kichar stopped in her tracks. “Fuk. Not you too,” she said, brow furrowing.

“Hey, Kichar, I'm not teasing. Gunny would want us to stick together, right?” Mashona kept her hand on Kichar's arm.

Kichar could allow that. “Maybe.”

“She'd want me to take care of you,” Mashona said.

Kichar's expression softened. “Did she say something to you? Before she...?” There was the eager young marine that Mashona had learned she could rely on to get the job done, and more.

“She didn't have to,” replied Mashona. “She trained me. So I know. Right?”

Kichar could accept that kind of logic when it came to the Gunny. Torin had a way of rubbing off on people. “Did you see her? Before she left?” she asked.

“Sure. We talked. Didn't you get a chance to say goodbye?” said Mashona.

Kichar looked so miserable that Mashona threw her a bone. “She did say she told Staff Sergeant Johnston he could call her any time,” she continued. “If you gave him any trouble.”

Kichar looked delighted at that. “Really? Like, what kind of trouble? Did she sound worried?”

“Hey, fuk, you're going to do something stupid to get her attention, aren't you?” said Mashona.

Kichar drew herself up straight. “Please. I would never. Gunny wouldn't like that.”

“That's for fukking sure. She'd head right back here to knock some sense into you and tell you she's not your mother, marine!” Mashona said the last part in her best approximation of the voice Torin used, the one that reached down beyond a recruit's conscious mind and pulled them up by their scruff.

Kichar looked suddenly flustered, a blush pinkening her cheeks. “Fuk, Mashona,” she said.

Mashona looked at the shorter woman and realised that Kichar wasn't going to get over her crush any time soon. She must be hurting bad. She draped an arm around her shoulders and they walked on. “So Gunny would definitely want me to take care of you, Kichar.” She squeezed a little with her arm to make Kichar stumble in towards her. “She would absolutely want me to take you someplace quiet and listen to every fukking thing you ever wanted to say on the subject of Gunnery Sergeant Torin Kerr (retired). If only so you don't spill your guts to another fukking rookie who can't hold his tongue.”

Kichar looked up at her. She slid an arm around Mashona's waist. “I know a place,” she said, managing to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

\--------------------------

“Gunny fukking loves her combats,” Kichar gushed. “All the tech built-in, the med functions, comms, dirt repellent, climate control...”

“Yeah, it's getting kind of hot in here, isn't it?” said Mashona, undoing a couple of buttons on her service uniform shirt.

“Not me,” said Kichar, brandishing the control surface on the sleeve of her combat jacket. “Cool as fukking cucumber.”

Mashona couldn't deny that Kichar, slender and short by comparison to her own tall and muscular frame, cut a darling figure in her close-fitting black combats. “Does Gunny swear that much, Kichar?” asked Mashona, putting her arm up on the back of the sofa.

“She doesn't care as long as we get the job done,” replied Kichar, sitting forward. Mashona took the opportunity to slide her arm down a ways on the back of the sofa.

“How'd you find out about this place, anyway?” asked Mashona. They were in a tucked away corner of the station that had been fitted out with sofas and chairs. Obviously designed to be a rec area of some kind, it looked like it had fallen off the station maps, especially the cleaning rota. It was empty apart from them and looked like it hadn't been disturbed in some time.

“I'm Recon, Corporal,” said Kichar proudly, as if that explained everything.

“Gunny isn't Recon,” said Mashona. “In fact, did she ever go through specialist training?”

Kichar had obviously thought about that one. “Being a Sergeant is already a specialty. People skills.”

Mashona snorted. “With marines? Do you need 'em?” 

“Would I... would she be so fukking good at her job without them?” asked Kichar, relaxing back onto the sofa again, and encountering Mashona's arm, which curled around her shoulders comfortably.

“And you want to be just like her someday, right?” asked Mashona.

“Fuk, yes.”

“She'll be so fukking proud of you,” said Mashona, looking Kichar in the eye.

Kichar looked down shyly. “You think?” she said quietly.

“I know,” replied Mashona with warmth in her voice. “Hey. I liked how you handed that guy his ass.”

“Only way he'll ever find it,” replied Kichar.

Mashona smiled. “That sounded like something the Gunny would say,” she said.

“Fuk, Mashona, why're you being so nice to me?” said Kichar, resting her head on Mashona's shoulder.

“We've seen some shit. Need another reason?” said Mashona. Very few had escaped the volcanic prison planet. Torin had dragged them home through sheer force of will.

“Everybody else hates me.”

“You're just making them look bad. When you're not losing your temper and beating on them. Which also makes them look bad,” said Mashona with a laugh.

“Gunny wouldn't take any crap, either,” said Kichar defiantly.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. “Hey,” said Mashona. “If you like, we could... you know.”

Kichar's eyes widened. “It's against regs in a public concourse of the station,” was her knee-jerk response.

Mashona laughed. “That didn't sound like 'no' to me,” she said, letting her hand close on Kichar's arm. “Besides, if it's not on the map, it's not public, is it?”

“I don't know...”

“You can think about her during. I don't mind,” said Mashona, her free hand plucking lightly at the fastening of Kichar's combat pants. “Think about Gunny holding you tight...”

“Oh, fuk,” said Kichar, as Mashona unzipped her fly and dipped a hand inside.

“Ever notice how strong Gunny is?” Mashona asked as she wormed her way into Kichar's regulation undies.

“She's so...” Kichar gasped as Mashona made first contact. “So fukking strong.”

Mashona held Kichar tight around the shoulders and began to explore with her fingers. “Gunny handles marines like marines handle rifles,” she whispered in her ear. “Lines 'em up and pulls the trigger.”

Kichar put her head back and closed her eyes, exhaling, her cheeks flushing. “Get's you to do things you thought you weren't capable of,” continued Mashona.

“Fuk, I want...” gasped Kichar as Mashona dipped a finger inside her.

“Say it, marine,” ordered Mashona. “Tell me.” She began to make slow circles with her thumb. Kichar was sopping wet already. She slipped another finger in.

“I want to make Gunny proud,” Kichar breathed, red-faced and desperate.

“And Gunny wants you to cream your fukking combats, marine!” Mashona tried out the voice again.

It seemed to help. Kichar mewled and grabbed at Mashona's wrist, encouraging her to go deeper and apply more pressure. Mashona obliged happily.

Kichar began to sweat despite the cooling circuits in her combats, fine drops of perspiration gathering at her brow. “Please...” she said.

“Marines don't beg, Lance-Corporal,” barked Mashona.

“Yes, Gunny,” replied Kichar, her voice high and strained.

Mashona's response was to squeeze Kichar tighter between the arm around her shoulder and the hand buried in her crotch. “Make me proud, Kichar,” she whispered.

Kichar's flush crept down to her neck as she screwed up her face and tried to twist away from Mashona's hands. But she was held fast by the taller marine. “G... Gu... Gunny!” she screamed out.

Mashona felt the muscles clench around her fingers, and held Kichar down as she bucked and heaved, trying to draw it out. Fuk. Why did she never get off like that?

It was probably the pent-up unrequited crush, she reflected. It was doubly gratifying to see Kichar lose it so totally. Maybe the stick up her ass was finally coming out. She held Kichar close as she subsided, burying her nose in her short dark hair. Same cut as the Gunny's, wouldn't you know.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Wanna return the favour?”

“Don't ask questions you already know the answer to,” Kichar whispered back, mimicking Torin's delivery. “It's annoying.”


End file.
